


Red Rose

by dino_nuggets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Gentle John, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Sherlock, POV Third Person, Pining Sherlock, Poor Sherlock, Praise Kink, Sherlock Whump, sherlock is smol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dino_nuggets/pseuds/dino_nuggets
Summary: Sherlock's world was like a delicate flower in John's hand; One squeeze and it all fell to pieces.(Pretty OOC, but we need some MAJOR fluff after Season 4.)





	1. Chapter 1

Message from John Watson:  
_Picking Rosie up from daycare. Be home soon._

Sherlock looked at his phone screen, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards in a faint smile. Home. John called Baker Street home. Sherlock was glad to have him back at 221B, along with Rosie, who now shared a room with her father. Although having a baby in the flat meant that the detective had to skip the more dangerous cases and experiments, Sherlock was delighted to have Rosie living with him and John. She was growing into a very intelligent young lady and seemed to enjoy watching Sherlock perform his experiments. It came as a surprise to John, (as well as many others), that Sherlock seemed to enjoy taking care of Rosie. He would feed her and read to her, even help John bathe her or tuck her in at night. If asked, say that he was only doing these things to help John. But Sherlock secretly loved it. He loved caring for Rosie, loved spending time with John. It made him feel important, needed, wanted. Sometimes, Sherlock would forget for a few moments that he was only here to help John with his daughter and get swept up in a fantasy where they were a family and would spend the rest of their lives together. And that John Hamish I'm-Not-Gay Watson actually loved-

Sherlock's train of thought was cut off when he heard a ping from his cell phone.

Message from John Watson:  
Chinese takeaway okay for dinner?

Sherlock quickly typed a response:

 _Fine_  
_SH_

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock and Lestrade were on their way to grab lunch after visiting a crime scene. John couldn't join them, as he had to tend to his responsibilities as a father, so Sherlock was alone with the Detective Inspector.  
"So mate," Lestrade asked, "what's on your mind?"  
"Hm?" Sherlock replied.  
"You haven't been such an intolerable arsehole today, so something's definitely wrong."  
"I'm fine."  
Lestrade cocked an eyebrow and looked at him incredulously.  
"I assure you, I'm fi-"  
"Sherlock, I know very well that you are not fine. Now tell me what the bloody hell is bothering you!"  
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but finally gave in.  
"I... um... I've been thinking about... well, trying some things that usually aren't really my area, and-"  
"It's John isn't it."  
Lestrade sniggered as Sherlock's cheeks turned bright red.  
"Sherlock and John sitting in a- Oof!" Lestrade cursed as Sherlock elbowed him in the gut.  
"Bloody hell Sherlock. I'm sorry!" Sherlock grunted in response.  
"But you do... um... fancy John?"  
Sherlock looked down at his feet.  
"Ah, yes, I believe I do."  
"So why don't you tell him?"  
Sherlock didn't like where this was going.  
"Tell him what?" Lestrade sighed.  
"Well you know, how you feel about him."  
"You mean-"  
"For god's sake Sherlock, tell the man you love him!"  
Sherlock looked terrified.  
"Tell John ." Lestrade nodded.  
"That I... why would I do that?"  
"Well," Lestrade said patiently, as though talking to a small child, "You never know. Maybe John feels the same way."  
Oh. Sherlock had never thought of it that way before. Suddenly this seemed like a very good idea.  
"I need a plan." Sherlock mumbled to himself.  
"What was that Sher-" Before Lestrade could finish, Sherlock was dashing off to find a cab.  
"Got to go. See you Gary!" Sherlock shouted over his shoulder. Lestrade shook his head in amusement.  
"It's Greg!"

 

* * *

 

   The little silver bell tied to the OPEN sign clinked against the door as Sherlock entered the flower shop. There were flowers everywhere, bouquets of tulips and daisies dotting the shelves, baskets of morning glories hanging form the ceiling and bunches of hydrangeas decorating various displays. He felt completely ridiculous, but he couldn't back out now. He was doing this for John. A chubby lady wearing a pastel pink dress approached Sherlock. Owner of the store, seventy-something, happily married, three kids he deduced. "Hello sir," The woman gave him a bright smile. "Now, what is it that we're looking for today?" Sherlock bit his lip nervously. "I... um... I would like to place an order for a bouquet." The owner clapped her hands together. "Lovely! Did you have anything specific in mind?" Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, actually. A dozen roses, red would be optimal. If possible I would like to pick it up Friday afternoon. Will that be admissible?" "Yes, of course! We'll wave your order ready when you stop by." Sherlock nodded briskly and thanked the owner for her time, then walked out of the flower shop and hailed a cab to take him back to Baker Street. On his way he called Angelo's and reserved a table for seven o'clock on Friday night, the same one by the window where John and Sherlock had their first dinner together. Everything was perfect and going according to plan. This Friday, Sherlock would present John with a bouquet of red roses and ask him out on a date to Angelo's. Sherlock fell asleep that night with a smile on his face, thinking about how nice it would be to finally have John all to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter. Promise the story will end with happiness and Johnlock. (Unlike SOME people's... *glares at Gatiss and Moffat*)

Sherlock looked in the mirror, smiling to himself. His hair was perfectly styled and he wore his deep purple shirt. He knew that John liked it, the doctor would always stare at the dark fabric clinging to Sherlock's chest, his gaze something close to predatory. It always made him flustered when John looked at him that way. Not unpleasantly so. No, Sherlock liked it. It made him feel... wanted. He wasn't used to feeling wanted. Needed, yes. People were idiots and always used him for his deduction skills. The police these days were incompetent. But wanted? That was a whole other thing.

 

* * *

 

(Sherlock, eight years old)

 _His parents were in their bedroom when Sherlock heard sobbing. He poked his curly little head around the corner to see what was going on. Mummy sat on the edge of the bed with Daddy by her side, an arm draped around her shoulders._  
_"I... I don't know what to do! We've tried everything... I don't know where else to turn..." Mummy choked out. Daddy held her tighter._  
_"I know, Violet. You've done everything you can. It's not your fault. Sherlock just isn't... normal."_  
_Sherlock stepped away from the door and walked to his room. He sat down in the middle of his bed and stared at the ceiling, his father's words echoing in his mind._

"It's not your fault. Sherlock just isn't... normal."

_Sherlock knew he was different than the other boys and girls, but he never saw it as a bad thing. Evidently it was, mummy was just crying over it._

"It's not your fault. Sherlock just isn't... normal."

_It wasn't Mummy's fault. Whose fault was it? Was it his fault?_

 

 _A tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek. He curled in on himself. He wished he was normal. He wish someone would hold him. He wished someone wanted him_.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock walked to his room and carefully picked up the bouquet of roses from his desk. He hoped they weren't too sentimental. Then again, this was John Watson. He couldn't think of a more sentimental person. John was always so kind to everyone. Sherlock could only imagine how affectionate the army doctor would be toward a lover. And Sherlock did imagine it, more often than he would like to admit. The detective's thoughts would often wander into a lovely fantasy where John was his, all his. Fantasy John would hug Sherlock and cuddle with him on the sofa and kiss him whenever he got the chance.

 

* * *

 

 

(Sherlock, college)

 _"I'm home!" Sherlock called to Victor. He was cold and just wanted to have a relaxing night in with his boyfriend. He walked into their shared bedroom to find Victor lying on the bed reading a book._  
_"Oh, you're back" he said, barely even glancing up at Sherlock. Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly._  
_"Um... Victor? Do you think that we could... maybe..."_  
Victor put his book on the nightstand and looked at his partner.  
"Use your words, Sherlock." Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck with his hand nervously.  
"I-I wanted to cuddle," he stuttered. Victor gave him an exasperated look.  
"You know the drill, Sherlock. We've been over this many times. If you want a reward, you're going to have to work for it."  
Sherlock nodded, then sat down at the edge of the bed as Victor unzipped his trousers and took off his pants. He took Victor's cock into his mouth and sucked him off until he finished. Sherlock crawled into Victor's arms, already exhausted from a long day.  
_"Thank you," Sherlock whispered._  
_"You're welcome, pet" Victor held Sherlock tighter._  
_"I love you Victor,"_  
_"I know you do." Victor replied. Sherlock felt lucky to have someone who would tolerate him. He was such a freak._

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock walked toward the sitting room holding the flowers behind his back and trying his best to school his expression despite how nervous and giddy he was feeling. Sherlock expected to find John sitting in his chair like usual, but instead he rushed past Sherlock.

Strong cologne. Wearing the Date Shoes. Does he know that I'm asking him out?

"John-"  
"Can't talk now Sherlock, I've got to go," John said as he grabbed his coat.  
"Wha- John? Where are you going?" Sherlock was perplexed.  
"I've got a date. I won't be home until tomorrow morning, I'm staying at his place for the night, " Sherlock's eyes went wide.  
"H-Him?" He stuttered. John shrugged.  
"Ya, Anthony. New doctor at the clinic. Met him a few weeks ago. Got to go, don't forget to eat something!" Sherlock rushed toward John.  
"Wait-,"  
The door slammed in his face.

John was gone.

Once again Sherlock had let his doctor slip through his fingers, and once again John was John was going out with another new date. And this one was a man. A man! Sherlock always figured the reason John didn't want him in the same way he wanted John was because he was a man. Now he knew the truth: John didn't have a problem with dating men, he just had a problem with dating Sherlock. John had never felt the same, never would. John would never be his anywhere accept in his ridiculous fantasies. John didn't love him.

_John didn't love him._

Sherlock could feel his heart break into pieces. His eyes brimmed with tears.

_Stupid, stupid, STUPID! Nobody loved him, he was Sherlock Holmes. A freak of nature._

His face was bright red with anger and frustration, the same shade as the flowers he was holding. He threw the bouquet on the ground and kicked it across the floor.

Sherlock stormed into the sitting room sand began to rip books from the shelves, push papers off of desks and tables. Blizzards of papers flew around him as he threw pillows from the sofa, tipped over chairs and lamps. Sherlock always thought that he had experienced heartbreak when John got married. If that was misery, this was worse by a mile.

_He was weak. He let sentiment penetrate the walls he built around his heart, destroy him._

Sherlock froze. He heard Rosie's cries from upstairs. He turned and looked around at the mess he made.

He felt so small.

So alone.

So confused.

So _unwanted_.

Sherlock collapsed in the middle of the sitting room. A choked sob escaped his throat. Then another, and another, hot tears freely streaming down his face. The detective curled into a ball and continued to sob.

Nothing mattered anymore. The Work, his house, experiments, the reputation he had made for himself- Nothing.

Sherlock cried himself to sleep on the floor that night, wishing there was someone to hold him, close and tell him everything would be alright.

_It wouldn't be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get better. Next chapter is SMUT!!! ;)

"Sherlock."  
Sherlock was roused from his sleep by the sound of someone calling his name.  
"Sherlock, wake up!"  
It was John. Of course it was John. He felt a hand shaking his shoulder. He groaned sleepily and blinked. He was sore all over and unsure why he was on the living room floor, and then saw the roses thrown on the floor in the hallway. Ah, yes. John's date.  
Wait. Why is John here?  
He must of said that last bit aloud because John said that things didn't "go as planned." Sherlock sighed. John wasn't the only one who didn't get what they wanted.

"Sherlock, what happened? Are you okay?"  
"Fine," Sherlock lied. Telling John the truth wouldn't do any good. A broken heart was not something a doctor could fix. Not by conventional methods, anyway.

John still looked concerned. He walked Sherlock over to the sofa and sat down next to him.  
"Sherlock," John said firmly. He looked into the detective's eyes, causing the brunette's heart to skip a beat. "I know you. I know something's wrong. Now tell me."  
"I can't." Sherlock said darkly.  
"Why not?"  
"Because you'll leave."  
A tear found its way down Sherlock's cheek and John cupped his face and smoothed it away. That simple, kind gesture was all it took for Sherlock to crack. He started to sob as John pulled him into his arms.  
"I-I'm sorry,"  
Sherlock choked out between hiccuping cries.  
"It wasn't s-supposed ha-happen."  
"What wasn't supposed to happen?" John said, clearly worried.  
"I-I love you." Sherlock sobbed.  
"I have since you shot the cabbie for me. I thought that it would all work out, and then... Moriarty... and I left I left you John. I can never forgive myself. I... I lost my chance while I was away. You found someone and left me... and it hurt, John. It hurt so much. But I wanted you to be happy so I let you go... I p-planned your wedding and watched the love of my life marry someone else...And then she died, and it was all my fault! I deserved what I got when you kicked me on the floor in the hospital. And after... after all that I was stupid enough to hope. Tonight ... I was going to ask you out on... on a date. I had everything planned and- and you already had an arrangement. With a man, a man John. I thought that you were hesitant because I'm a man. But tonight I found out that it's not my gender you have a problem with, it's me. And... and you don't love me back." Sherlock hadn't meant to say any of that.  
John was going to leave.  
He grabbed John's jumper and sobbed into it, trying to get closer, make the most of this and absorb as much John as he could, as this was probably the last time he'd ever see his doctor.  
"Please," Sherlock whispered into the crook of John's neck.  
"Please don't go. Please don't leave me."

Instead of pushing away as he expected, Sherlock was pulled into the other man's lap. John carefully lifted Sherlock's chin so that the detective's stormy gray eyes were looking into John's bright blue ones. Sherlock's lip trembled.  
"Oh Sherlock," John sighed.  
"I'm not leaving," The doctor took a deep breath, gaze intensifying. "And I... I love you too. I have for as long as I can remember. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. You mean everything to me."  
Sherlock looked like a fish out of water; his eyes were wide and his mouth was opening and closing, trying to form words.  
"Really? You... you really..." Sherlock gasped.  
"I do. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I'm sorry I kept it from you. You told me you weren't interested in a relationship, so I figured... and I hurt you. You didn't kill Mary, and what I did to you in the morgue, it was... I can't express how sorry I am. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. "  
Sherlock tentatively brought his hand up to cup John's cheek and whispered "I love you too" before closing the gap between their lips. Sherlock nearly sobbed with relief when John began kissing him back. He had imagined how kissing John would feel countless times, but no fantasy could compare to the real thing. John's lips were warm and soft against his own, the pressure firm and reassuring. Sherlock groaned as John bit lightly on his plush bottom lip and then soothed it with his tongue. The kiss deepened in a matter of seconds. 

Sherlock melted under John's ministrations, soaking up the attention and affection he had been craving for so long. All he could think was _finally, yes, finally, John_. Sherlock panted into John's mouth as one of the doctor's hands slid into his hair. John's lips made there way across Sherlock's face and jaw and down to his sensitive neck. Sherlock whimpered as John sucked a mark on the soft skin, claiming the detective as his own.  
"Mmm, your gorgeous," John mumbled. Sherlock squirmed and blushed, a certain part of his anatomy reacting to John's praise.  
"So responsive."  
John brought a hand down to Sherlock's chest and rubbed his thumb across a nipple. Sherlock groaned, the sensation shooting through his nerves and straight to his cock. He was getting incredibly hard, uncomfortably so as his erection was straining against his tight trousers. Sherlock wanted John to touch him so badly...

But to his dismay, John removed his hands from Sherlock's body entirely. Sherlock whined impatiently.  
"Wha- why'd you stop?" Had John changed his mind? Sherlock began to panic. John must have noticed because he squeezed Sherlock's shoulder comfortingly.  
"Sherlock, everything's fine. I just thought we should, you know, slow down a bit?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Is this because you are still convinced that I'm a virgin?" John looked confused.  
"You are, aren't you? Mycroft said-"  
"Don't EVER listen to anything that Mycroft says." (John chuckled at that.) "And I am not a virgin, and, in fact I have been in a relationship before."  
John nodded, but still looked confused.  
"You just seemed... new to this."  
"Well," Sherlock began, "I suppose you're alluding to my... sensitivity." He flushed to the tips of his ears.  
"I have always been quite responsive to touch. Also, in past relationships, partners have been more focused on their pleasure as opposed to my own. Physical affection was used as a reward for sex." Sherlock looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed.  
"I'm not used to being touched, and when I do receive physical contact it's usually intended to do more damage than good."  
They both grimaced, remembering the incident in the morgue.  
"Sherlock, I'm so sorry."  
The detective looked at the doctor, emotion clouding his eyes. John pulled him close and stroked Sherlock's dark curls back from his forehead and looked into his eyes.  
"You deserve to be touched and loved and I want to make you feel good. But you have to promise me something." Sherlock nodded.  
"If I do something you don't like, you have to tell me to stop. I don't want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable in anyway."  
Sherlock nodded solemnly.  
"Yes, John, I promise."  
A mischievous grin spread across John's face, causing his lover's stomach to flutter.  
"Sherlock, my love, you've waited so long for this. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you want... May I take you to bed?" Sherlock shivered.  
"God, yes!"


End file.
